by Penny Jordan
They caught the bus with ten minutes to spare. The route to York was a rambling one, through various small Dales villages, and not exactly unpleasant, although Simon chaffed at the length of time it took. ‘If we’d gone in Scott’s Ferrari, we’d have been there ages ago,’ he grumbled, scowling faintly when Philippa gave him a mild rebuke. ‘You mustn’t call him Scott, Simon.’
‘What should I call him then, “Dad”?’ He flushed bright red and refused to look at her, adding grumpily, ‘Anyway he said I could, call him Scott I mean. He likes me,’ he told her.
Did Simon know how guilty he made her feel? Philippa tried to concentrate on the scenery. If only they could get away from Garston she might be able to deal with the problem a little less emotively. Scott must let them leave. She would have to speak to him about it.
She bit her lip remembering how abortive her attempts to do so had proved. She had followed him one morning down to the pool, hoping to have a private word with him when he finished his morning swim, but when he had stood before her, dripping water, his body taut, and sleek, clad only in brief bathing trunks, his proximity had so overwhelmed her that she hadn’t been able to say a word.
‘What do you want, Philippa?’ he had taunted, moving so close to her that she could see the deep sapphire rim close to the pupils of his eyes. ‘To continue what Mrs Robinson so inconveniently interrupted the other evening…?’ She had fled ignominiously then, not looking back, his sardonic laughter scarring her soul.
‘Mum, we’re here,’ Simon said impatiently, tugging at her arm. ‘Come on.’ The bus had stopped and she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t even noticed.
They spent what was left of the morning exploring the town. Philippa knew it quite well and it hadn’t changed, although there was a far better selection of small exclusive boutiques than she remembered.
‘Shopping.’ Simon pulled a face, ‘Do we have to? Can’t I go and look at the Minster and then meet you?’
They didn’t have an awful lot of time left if they were going to make the three o’clock bus back. Simon was sensible enough not to get lost, and giving him strict instructions where to wait for her Philippa let him go.
She had been in three shops before she found what she was looking for, a soft pink skirt that emphasised her narrow waist and skimmed the slender curves of her hips. She bought a jumper to go with it, Italian knitted silk in multi-coloured pastels, and then on impulse agreed to try on the pretty cotton dress the sales assistant was showing her. Pastel blues and lilacs mingled attractively in a modern design, the dress a simple wrap-over style that was startlingly seductive once she had it on, the cotton fabric emphasising the full curves of her breasts.
‘It’s rather low-necked,’ Philippa protested, when the girl came to see how she was getting on. ‘I don’t think.…’
‘Oh, it’s not as low as all that. Come outside and see yourself full length in a proper mirror,’ the girl suggested. Unwillingly Philippa followed her, coming to an abrupt halt as the boutique door opened inwards and Scott strolled in, followed by Simon. The assistant’s eyes flickered over Simon and then Scott, lingering appreciatively on his lean frame and amused eyes, before she directed her attention rather hastily towards Philippa.
‘I thought we might find you here.’ Scott was studying her with an open appraisal that brought the blood stinging to her cheeks, her eyes throwing angry fire back at him as he smiled at her, the same engaging, heart-stopping grin she remembered from the past and which she had thought had disappeared for ever.
‘Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll bother with this one.…’ Philippa started to tell the girl, dragging her eyes away from Scott’s and anxious only to escape from the shop and discover what he was doing with Simon.
‘Oh, but.…’
‘No, you must buy it.…’
Both the girl and Scott spoke at once, ‘I like it too, Mum,’ Simon told her, ‘It makes you look… different.’
Rather than argue, Philippa gave in to their combined opposition. The dress was unsuitable for her lifestyle; she would probably never wear it, but just for a moment when Scott looked at her in it, his eyes resting fleetingly on the softly exposed curves of her breasts, she had felt seventeen again, headily in love with someone who loved and wanted her, and for that reason if no other she would buy it.
She had to wait until they were outside to discover what Scott was doing with Simon. He had business in York, he told her noncommittally and had seen Simon waiting for her as he left his accountant’s office.
‘Simon said you were shopping and I guessed you would be in one of the boutiques along here. It’s the best part of the city for dress shops.’
‘I suppose it never occurred to you that I might have gone looking for you, Simon,’ she scolded her son, trying to ignore her fierce tug of pleasure at having Scott’s company.
‘If you want to blame someone, then blame me,’ Scott interrupted. ‘In fact, had I known you intended coming to York I would have offered you a lift.’
How very polite and civilised he sounded, a panther trying to convince its victim he was nothing more dangerous than a domestic cat. Well, she knew differently.
‘Simon tells me you haven’t had lunch yet.’ He didn’t wait for her reply, his palm warm against her back as he guided her over a pedestrian crossing. Once the other side of the road had been gained, he added, ‘Why don’t you both join me? I wasn’t looking forward to a solitary meal.’
‘Thank you, but no,’ Philippa said shortly, trying to ignore the look of resentment on Simon’s face, his protesting, ‘But, Mum.…’ brought a warning look to her eyes, but it was too late, Scott had perceived her weakness and leapt at it.
‘Oh surely,’ he protested, ‘you can spare an hour. Simon tells me he’s examined the Minster from floor to ceiling. He must be hungry.’
It wasn’t fair of him to use Simon against her like this, but wasn’t that what he had been doing all along? And yet despite her anger there was a dangerous degree of pleasure in giving way to his urgings, and allowing him to guide them towards a discreetly expensive restaurant tucked away down one of the narrow lanes.
‘Ah, Mr Garston, Yes, of course we can find a table for you. Please come this way.’
Scott was obviously well known here, Philippa reflected, trying hard not to be impressed by the decor and luxury of their surroundings. ‘Le Jardin’ the restaurant was called, and was rather like a huge conservatory with its mirrored walls and profusion of plants. Vines trailed overhead, mingling with the bougainvillaea blossoms, attractive cane furniture, white with patterned green and white cushions, was scattered among the banks of plants, and they were led to one of these tables, discreetly set apart from the others so that they could eat without being overlooked.
Who else had Scott brought here? Cara? At the thought of the American girl a pain like sharp steel knives cut into her heart, her face paling so suddenly that she was conscious of a brief sensation of faintness. She must have swayed slightly because almost instantly she felt the hard grip of Scott’s fingers against her arm.
‘Something wrong?’ he demanded, watching her keenly. He always seemed to be watching her these days in that sharp, far too keen-eyed way of his, as though he was waiting to pounce.
‘It’s just the heat in here,’ she lied. ‘I’m all right now.’
He released her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and while Simon was sitting down said cruelly, ‘Of course, forgive me for jumping to assumptions… but then I suppose you have learned something in the past eleven years, even if it is only not to repeat your past mistakes.’ He was looking at Simon as he spoke and she realised on a fierce stab of pain exactly what he meant.
If they hadn’t been in the middle of a crowded restaurant; if Simon hadn’t chosen that moment to look up at them, she would surely have hit him, wanting to lash out and hurt as he had hurt her.
Afterwards she couldn’t remember what food she ordered, only that it tasted
of nothing in her mouth and that she could barely force any of it down. Simon seemed immune to her desperation, talking avidly to Scott. He was hungry for his father’s attention Philippa recognised; he seemed to want to store up as much of it as he could. How was he going to react when all this was over; when they were back in London? Giving in to Scott had been a mistake; she should have tried to find some other way to pay for the damage to his car… but what could she have done?
Against her will she was forced to accept his offer of a lift home, and in vain she protested that she would be quite happy to sit in the back of the Ferrari, leaving the front passenger seat to Simon. She was to sit in the front, Scott insisted, and shakily she did as he bid. The seat belt mechanism refused to respond to her fumbling fingers and Scott, who had been securing his own, leaned forward, brushing away her hands, completing the task for her. As she looked down at his downbent dark head a wave of love so strong that her body pulsed with it washed over her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him how much she loved him, and her whole body shook with the intensity of her emotions.
Simon was talking to Scott, something; about computer-electronics that passed completely over her head and made her marvel at her son’s ability to grasp and be excited by such complexities; her talents lay in other directions. She had a flair for languages and literature, although she could remember that she and Scott had always found plenty to talk about. The meal she had just consumed plus the heat of the car combined to lull her into drowsiness so that the male voices became peripheral to her concentration. Her senses relayed to her the smooth play of Scott’s muscles as he changed gear; the male scent of him, the unbearable familiarity of his body that tensed hers in tight coils of excitement.
‘Wake up, Mum.’ With a sense of déjà vu Philippa opened her eyes. They were back at Garston Place. How long had she been asleep? Her face flamed as she became aware that the something hard and warm beneath her cheek was Scott’s shoulder, and that in her sleep she had curved towards him.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she apologised stiffly as she drew away, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, ‘Too much wine with my lunch.’
Scott looked at her briefly. His mouth had thinned, his eyes glittering as he watched her. It jolted her to realise how much he must have resented her unguarded intimacy. He was looking at her as though he would like to hurt her. She shivered slightly as she stepped out of the car, her glance falling on an unfamiliar Rolls parked outside the house.
‘Looks like we’ve got visitors. An old friend of yours, unless I’m mistaken. You’d better come and say “hello” to him.’
She was about to protest that his visitors were no concern of hers when she caught the warning note in his voice, and then it was too late to escape. His arm fastened tightly round her shoulders, the pressure of his fingers against the bone physically painful.’
‘This way.’ He wasn’t taking any chances on letting her escape. Simon was at her side, looking slightly perplexed, as Scott thrust open the drawing-room door. Three people were sitting there, Eve, and another couple. Philippa’s heart plunged as she recognised Geoff Rivers. ‘Quite a surprise.’ Scott’s voice was heavy with irony and Philippa knew he hadn’t missed the sudden tension in her body, but he didn’t know its real cause.
Across the room Eve looked at her and Philippa wondered if it was faintly apologetic guilt she read in the older woman’s eyes as she greeted their arrival, and said lightly to Geoff. ‘Here she is, now do you believe me?’
‘Pippa, my dear.’
Scott had released her, leaving her to combat a slightly drunken feeling of being cast adrift without support. It was a frightening feeling, somehow, and she wanted to cling to him for support. Fighting against the sensation she managed to smile at Geoff. He was the only person apart from Sir Nigel who had ever called her Pippa, adopting the nickname in those few short weeks when she had worked for him; a holiday job translating some of the documents he received from foreign companies in connection with the racing stud he ran on his estate.
‘Darling, this is Pippa, she worked for me for a few weeks, oh it must be over ten years ago now.…’
Scott’s dark head inclined towards her as Geoff turned to include his wife in their conversation. ‘See how well he remembers you,’ he murmured sarcastically. ‘It must be ten years ago now,’ he mimicked. ‘He can’t even remember when it was, unlike me… I remember exactly how long ago it was, Pippa!’
Philippa remembered Mary Tatlow from the photographs she had seen of her. She had often appeared in the local paper, and Philippa had searched avidly for any small item about her when Jeffrey Garston had told her of his plans. How would she be feeling right now if Mary was being introduced to her as Scott’s wife; the mother of his children? She went white and then realised that both Mary and Scott had witnessed her small betrayal, Mary with compassion, Scott with bitter comprehension.
‘Of course. How nice to meet you, Philippa. And this must be Simon.’ Her smile widened to include him.
‘Yes, Eve has been telling us about him,’ Geoff put in, his eyes resting thoughtfully for a moment on the downbent dark head.
‘I must say he’s very cool,’ Scott murmured to her, while his mother rang for more tea. ‘He didn’t bat an eyelid when he was introduced to Simon, but then he must know you’ve nothing to gain by betraying him. I doubt he would ever tell Mary about Simon—and of course you already knew that he had no intention of marrying you.’
‘Seeing as you disapprove so much I’m surprised that you’re so indulgent towards my son,’ Philippa spat back, infuriated by his arrogant assumptions.
‘Ah, but you see, Simon isn’t responsible for his fathering, and you are. Besides, I like him. Don’t you ever feel guilty for depriving him of a father? Surely there have been applicants for the—er—position over the years?’
‘Yes, there have,’ Philippa gritted at him, goaded beyond endurance. ‘But you see none of them have ever come near comparing with his natural father.’
It was Scott’s turn to lose his colour, an ugly fury twisting his facial muscles in an unpleasant mockery of a smile, the muscles in his throat corded with effort. Philippa looked down at his hands and knew that it was only with a very great effort that he was keeping them from tightening round her throat. ‘I’m surprised at my mother bringing Geoff here when she knows.…’
‘That I bore his bastard,’ Philippa supplied for him. Inwardly she was shaking with anger, but she wasn’t going to let Scott see how much his insults hurt her. ‘What’s the matter, Scott? Jealous because my child wasn’t yours?’
For a second time seemed to be suspended, both of them totally engrossed in one another, the tension between them so tight that it threatened to explode.
‘Mine? Dear God, do you think I would allow a bitch like you to have my child? Once I would have married you, no matter whose child you carried; that was how much I… loved you. But I loved a chimera, someone who didn’t exist, I loved a cheating, greedy little bitch. No, I don’t wish you’d had my child, Philippa. In fact I thank God that I never burdened a child of mine with a mother like you.’
He turned away from her before she; could speak, going to join the others, leaving her alone with the waves of pain that threatened to swamp all her fragile defences. She had thought she knew pain; that it was something she had come to terms with, endured; but she had known nothing. Nothing!
She wanted to leave, to go up to her room and lock herself away, but she couldn’t move. The voices of the others impinged distantly, like the sound of the sea against the shore.
‘Mum, are you all right?’
She dragged her thoughts together and stared blindly into Simon’s anxious face. Simon! For his sake she had to pull herself together. ‘Fine,’ she assured him. Eve was saying something to her, proferring a cup of tea, her eyes anxious. She took it, the cup clattering against the saucer, her nerves so finely drawn that she wanted to scream to relieve the tension, and to go on scr
eaming.
‘Well, Philippa, it’s been lovely seeing you again. You must come over and see us.’ Somehow they were all standing outside by Geoff’s Rolls. ‘That invitation includes you young man,’ he added ruffling Simon’s dark hair. Simon shied away, glowering at him, as though some of Scott’s antagonism towards the other man had rubbed off. ‘James will be home from school shortly, you two would probably get along. How old are you?’
When Simon told him, he said, ‘Well, James is nine, just a year younger.’ She had never told Geoff about Scott, or about Simon, but she could see the way his glance moved assessingly from Scott to his son, before coming to rest on her own pale face. ‘Well, if you ever get tired of Scott here, we can always find you a job at Fairmile.…’
He climbed into his Rolls and Philippa stood back, tensing as she felt Scott’s fingers on her wrist, his breath hot against her ear as he rasped, ‘And we all know what your “job” will be don’t we, “Pippa”? And you’d go to him, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?’
He was practically shaking her, where she stood, and she fought to get away from him. ‘This can’t go on, Scott,’ she whispered back. ‘You must let me go. Simon.…’
‘Simon what? Might guess the truth, is that what you’re so frightened of?’
‘Simon is getting too attached to you,’ Philippa told him, breaking off when Eve and Simon turned in their direction. ‘We can’t talk about it now.…’
‘So what are you going to do? Come to my room? Are you sure it’s talk you want, Philippa, or has seeing him again made you hungry for something only a man can give you? Too bad,’ he told her with soft violence. ‘I’m not playing stand-in again. You’ll just have to want, and I’ll enjoy watching you ache.’